


Shrouded

by ghosterface



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-29 11:57:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21409804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosterface/pseuds/ghosterface
Summary: Ghostface loves his work. And he's really, really good at it.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	1. Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> just a warning this first chapter has the c-word used by ghostface.

Danny sighed. He’d been given a “break” by The Entity, much to his disappointment. She’d wanted to break in the newest killer, give it some trials to get used to the way around here - and to teach it that failure was  _ not  _ an option. 

The Entity enjoyed it quite a bit, as training an interdimensional monster was very new to her, and was a break from the monotony of plunging a killer into a trial and whispering in their mind, “Sacrifice the survivors. Do not let them escape. You have five generators left. Do not let them escape.” 

Danny, however, hated it. He’d never been a people person, but was able to slip on the mask of normalcy to be able to continue in his hobby well enough. But here? There was no need for that mask. The only one necessary was that of the Ghost. He had an endless supply of bodies to add to his list, with no repercussions - hell, he got REWARDED for being good at it! To all of the survivors, and even some of the killers, this was Hell. A place where they were being punished for past transgressions. But to Danny, this was as close to a Heaven as one could get. And he wanted to take advantage of that.

He never aged. He never slowed. His skills never dulled. His ability to weaken his prey was heightened, even, with some help from The Entity. He’d been easily the best Killer since he arrived, surpassing even the likes of The Nurse and The Spirit - who, by the way, have damned supernatural powers. So why was The Entity so smitten with the fucking flower dog she’d just gotten? 

Hell, Danny was the only Killer to receive outright gifts from The Entity. Sure, The Nurse and The Spirit were able to enter different planes of existence, and The Wraith could go invisible - sorta, but he’d flip his shit if someone said he wasn’t actually invisible - but they all came with major drawbacks. The Nurse was in absolute agony whenever she teleported, and The Spirit  _ lived  _ in agony. The Wraith’s invisibility...sucked, and he was so bad at using it that The Entity had disfigured him and taken his voice. 

It all reminded Danny of something out of some old book he’d had to read in high school. Something about a mouth, and not being able to scream. He barely remembered any of it except for the very end. The big bad bastard computer had the power to alter someone’s body to leave them in endless, eternal torment, exercising its complete control over the one human he had left. It resonated with Danny, who had lusted for that power over another human for as long as he could remember. It’s why he’d already gotten two bodies under his belt before he could even be tried as an adult for them. 

He had never received any sort of punishment from The Entity. He smiled slightly at the thought - why would he get punished? He was the only killer left who had a totally perfect record. Since arriving, he’d finished just over a hundred trials, and not a single Survivor had escaped him yet. The Entity had to actually take  _ away  _ some strength from him, letting the Survivors knock him out of his stealthiness by looking at him for a few seconds, but she made up for it by reaching back into his world and gifting him a book written some years after he disappeared, all about him. Some big shot FBI agent who’d been trailing him for years but never caught him wrote the book, but got pretty much everything after Roseville wrong. 

The Survivors rarely saw him anymore, though. He’d been a master at reading people since he’d come out of the womb. He knew from the second he entered a trial who he was going up against, and their habits within the trials. One of the guys, Ash or something - had a real big aura of cockiness, and it was trivially easy to use it against him. Still, the old man could take several hits, and some of Danny’s least favorite moments in a trial came from facing him. He’d go in for a hit, then a second...but when that’d drop anyone else, the bastard just kept on going. It took him three damn hits to take that guy down! Danny grimaced. Luckily, the Survivors barely even got to the exit gates on his worst day, but that could definitely prove to be a troublesome ability if they were ever to open them. 

Danny snapped out of his thoughts. He heard the familiar chattering in his mind, and the cold breeze that always accompanied The Entity’s arrival. He was being called to a trial.

Must’ve had her fill of The Demogorgon, or whatever it was called, for the time being. 

“Showtime, Danny. Let’s give her a trial she’ll be able to feast on for days.” He whispered to himself.

He found himself in The Doctor’s realm. Perfect. He loved it here - so many walls and windows to stalk through, and so few pallets to stop him. The Entity whispered her usual information to him - he was facing the Strode girl, the singer, the insufferable Brit, and the track star. All relatively tough prey, except for the singer. Kate, if he remembered correctly. As soon as The Entity gave him the go ahead, he entered his Shroud immediately. He didn’t feel the effects, nor see them, but The Entity had informed him that it made him undetectable. He didn’t have that red light Killers have, nor the heartbeat. Pretty nice, all things considered.

Anyways - he had to get to a gen. Taking into consideration the map and the Survivors, he assumed the Brit would be in the middle. The TV room, as he called it. Danny - no, Ghostface, made his way to the middle of the realm, and leaned around a corner to check if his hunch was correct. It was, and a few seconds later the Brit was exposed. He loved to watch Survivors scramble when their entire being pulses, letting them know that they’re essentially hooked already. Ghostface leaned back around the corner, knowing this was his favorite escape route, and simply dug his knife into the Brit’s back as he barreled past. He went down instantly and his scream echoed throughout the hospital. It was a real shame Ghostface couldn’t take pictures outside of his privilege kills, because the stab was a work of art - directly in the spine, enough to drop the man entirely but not enough to make him lose sensation anywhere. Ghostface picked him up and transported him a few feet to the nearest hook, closing his eyes and savoring the sound of the hook going through flesh. One on, three off. He could see the white auras of the blocked generators, and the red ones signaling Survivors were still there. He turned to examine his quarry and smiled under the mask. The Entity loved when he downed them this quickly. It gave her more than a regular, two-hit down - the Survivors hope would be ripped from them in an instant rather than over time. The emotion was much more powerful this way.

Nevertheless, he had to focus. He’d gone into this trial without the Hex perk gifted to him by the decrepit woman. He found the trials far too easy when generators were slowed down - he needed some sense of urgency to make this fun. It brought him back to the old days, when he knew he couldn’t spend too much time at a victim’s home before someone arrived. He turned a corner, not in stealth, and came face to face with the track star. With the Brit on a hook and the two others working on generators or too afraid to move lest they run into him, he could taunt this one a bit.   
  
“The night assists me, and it’s endless here.” He muttered, voice muffled beneath the mask. Just loud enough to be audible, just quiet enough to be ominous. He didn’t expect the response, however.   
  
“Yeah, I get it - you say that every time.” The track star yelped out before immediately breaking into a sprint away from him, vaulting a window in the time it took for him to collect himself. No Survivor had ever said anything back - why was this one not frightened enough? 

His rage swelled within him. His ego was damaged, and all he wanted was this one to himself. “Let’s see if you’re so fucking cocky when I have you on the ground, cunt!” He yelled, immediately breaking into a chase after her. His mind was entirely focused on finding her - the rest of the trial mattered little to him for the moment - and The Entity seemed to understand.   
  
“This one shall be yours when all else fall,” it whispered into his thoughts. The assurance only steeled his resolve.

He broke off from her, knowing she would be a reward to savor. Ghostface took a sharp left, returning to the area he had hooked the Brit. As he entered his Shroud around a wall, he could hear footsteps and breathing. The singer… how cute. A good kid with a heart of gold, she was always willing to put herself in danger for her friends. Luckily, Ghostface revelled in tearing her away from her friends. As she tried to lift the Brit off the hook, Ghostface turned the corner quickly and pulled her off and up onto his shoulder. As if the grab wasn’t enough for him, the sound of the Brit crying out in pain as he slid back into place brought a bright, wide smile to his face. He threw the singer onto a hook, just within eyesight of her friend.   
  
“Think about what you’ve done,” he chuckled, heading out again. He had to set his sights on the Strode girl while maintaining the two hooks he had. Lucky for him, The Entity had decided she was full from the Brit, and pierced a long, sharp leg through his chest and pulled him into the sky. A shame he hadn’t lasted longer - Ghostface rarely had a chance to see his, as they called it, “Dead Hard,” in action. It was quite impressive, really, and had taken him by surprise the first time he’d faced off against it. 

Ghostface found his next victim quickly. It wasn’t very hard, as the Strode girl liked to work on generators in the open. As much as he could gather, she was paranoid about being trapped in a small area with a Killer even more than the rest. He couldn’t get a damned word out of her accompanying Killer, The Shape. Not much for words, that one. He found her crouched next to a generator in one of the long hallways, right next to a pallet and a window. A solid setup - he’d have to actually try for this one. He activated his Shroud once more, playing on her fears by standing in the open and stalking like The Shape would. The little games he got to play with Survivors, even within the strict rules of a trial… they truly kept him going. The fear and anxiety on her face were satisfying, and he sensed that she was weakened enough for one hit. 

He lunged forwards, hoping to get this over with quickly to move on to the track star, but had misjudged the distance and was greeted with the pallet next to her in his face. He let out an angry groan and recovered, head pounding. Kicking the pallet, he doubled back quickly to where he assumed she’d be - and guessed right. She attempted to vault the window, but he managed to lean through it just in time and slice her back open. Lifting himself up over with both hands and standing over her, he laughed at her misfortune.   
  
“Gotta get more momentum than that - you know how it goes. Sorry, sweetie, but this is gonna hurt real bad.” Lifting her up, his eyes widened beneath the mask slightly. Despite how terribly the trial was going for the Survivors, the sound of a generator roaring to life rang through the halls. However, the impact of this was dulled slightly by the deep, guttural chattering of The Entity claiming another victim. The singer was gone, Strode was hooked, now all he needed was the track star.

His kill. His reward. 

He spent a few minutes searching. She was no doubt waiting for Strode to be sacrificed for the Hatch to open, so he had to act fast. If he didn’t find her soon, he would disappoint The Entity, give the girl an ego boost at his expense, and most importantly, lose  _ his  _ kill. He strolled through the hallways, passing through several doors and climbing through several windows, but never finding the girl. His anger was swelling and he needed some way to quell that - and right on time, a crow circled a locker, squawking incessantly. While annoying, it meant that the girl was in there. She knew that Ghostface was onto her, and he could hardly wait to take her picture. 

“Ready or not, here I come…” He crooned, taking pleasure in the building fear inside of her. He slowly creeped up to the locker, and right as he went to open it… 

She rushed out. The door hit him in the face and knocked him to the side, drawing a sickening cracking sound out of his nose and gushing blood afterwards. “You BITCH!” He screamed, tightening his grip around the knife as he followed after her. The Entity felt her hope growing and offered him some assistance - a totem activated, increasing Ghostface’s speed and lowering the defenses of the remaining Survivor. He caught up to her quickly and plunged his knife into her back, dropping her to the ground. He grabbed her by the hair roughly and, hearing the hatch open, dragged her towards it. Her whimpers fueled him, and he let go a few feet in front of the hatch. He allowed her to crawl a few inches before dropping down to his knees on top of her, stabbing her in her side and her back, shoving the knife in up to the handle. As her mouth hemorrhaged blood, he pulled out a camera - another gift - and snapped a quick picture. He turned the camera to see the image, and dropped the corpse to the ground. 

This, if he did say so himself, was one of his finest pieces of work.

The Entity agreed.


	2. Clowning Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghostface says another bad thing about women and has a quick chat with a...friend?

He’d had a great time in the last trial. He’d pleased his manager - he’d never call her a master, no matter what their actual relationship was. It was simply giving too much control up for a man who felt obligated to have that control. It was part of the reason why he’d gotten into the line of work he had. He needed control; control over his victims, over the narrative, over the press, over the police. His lust for control paired dangerously with his true psychopathic nature, and, well… the most prolific serial killer the world had seen was a title he’d easily reached.

Ah… scratch that. The most prolific serial killer the world had never seen. They saw the mask, of course, but never the person that was beneath it. They knew Jed Olsen, or Thomas Valentine, or Jacob Warren, but none of ‘em knew Danny Johnson. And he liked it like that. It was always scarier when the killer was more of a monster than just a deranged person. 

Danny couldn’t give less of a shit about Ted Bundy or Richard Ramirez for that reason. They’d gotten caught, and the mystique and fear they provided waned when they’d been locked up in prison for the rest of their lives. He idolized BTK, however, and if he could, he’d have posters of Zodiac over his walls.

Well, the ones that weren’t covered in his own handiwork and carefully picked articles, of course. Always gotta put numero uno above all else.

Danny thought back to his days travelling the country. Good times, but never quite so good as they were here. Something nobody really seems to consider is that serial killers are proud of their work, and when you’re proud of something, you naturally want to share it. However, if a kid shares to his mom that he got a perfect score on a test he’d expected to fail, he’s met with praise and maybe a few bucks to go get some ice cream. If a serial killer shares to a friend that he’s just passed the ten victim milestone, he gets a lethal injection or a short stint in the chair. 

So Danny kept it quiet. He kept it quiet through Houston, San Diego, Birmingham, Columbus, Philly, Roseville… he only shared when he was already long gone. And even then, by the time he’d disappeared, nobody would be able to tell who he was. A haircut, some dye, and a new walking pattern or accent and he’d fade back into obscurity. It was torture, and it reflected in the voracity of his kills. With each city or town he visited, his victims were met with a new kind of fury. They weren’t just forced into an intricate set of knots and met with a throat slash, oh no, not by Roseville. His haul of seven total in Roseville were met with punches and kicks and stabs and slashes so bad police had to dump their organs back into their bodies to take them to a mortician. 

That’s why he liked it here so much. He had an audience. He could boast, he could brag, he could swap stories with some of the more pleasant Killers around here. He liked The Clown the most. That fat fuck seemed to be the most willing to share his story, and hey - he even had a nice little gimmick. He’d take a finger off of every victim he got, adding them to a keyring on his belt loop. Even gotten himself a pretty nice list, topping out at forty-seven before The Entity had taken him to her realm. Danny was impressed that someone so huge and in such poor health could manage to get that many. However, even forty-seven paled in comparison to his staggering list of one-hundred and thirty four. He made the sad son of a bitch up in Washington look like a total amateur. 

Speaking of amateurs, he also kinda liked The Legion. Not only was their leader a perfectly corrupted youngster who seemed very eager to hop into trials, much like a teenaged version of himself, one of them was pretty much the only pussy one could look at around here and not feel disgusted. 

The Entity never let anyone do anything along those lines, of course, and Frank had a tight grip on one of them, but hey. It was nice to see something other than blood, guts, and dudes like The Trapper or, god forbid, The Hillbilly.

The other kid was just too young. Danny might’ve been a depraved, sadistic psychopath with a terrifying talent for murder, but he wasn’t that sick in the head. 

And finally, the other guy - Joe, or something - seemed to take a real interest in Danny. His getup was pretty sad, an off-brand Ghostface outfit at best. Seriously, it was baggy in some places and there were hardly any straps placed in tactical areas, and his knife was a joke. You can’t stab as well with a karambit, and the slashes alone will hardly be enough to kill someone. How this group managed to get even a single kill was beyond him.

Danny materialized in a thick, black fog back at Father Campbell’s Chapel. He hadn’t gotten a realm of his own, so he simply hopped around from Killer to Killer, sticking with each one for a while. So far, his favorite places to get some downtime at were Lery’s, and The Chapel. The hospital was easy enough to explain - there were actual beds, and sometimes The Entity was feeling generous enough to get the television sets there working again, just for him. All in all, it was pretty nice to be the teacher’s pet around here. 

He liked The Chapel because The Clown resided in the back of it, in his own horrifying little circus area. Danny made the short trip to his caravan, hoping to score some nice conversation, a few sips of a drink - which was all one needed with The Clown - and somewhere to rest. 

Luckily, The Clown was there. Jeffrey, he supposed. Or Kenneth? He could barely remember. Yet another man of mystery, just like himself.

“‘Sup, big guy. Got anything for me?” He asked, his voice smooth yet quiet, muffled under the mask. Even in his own time, he’d always kept his voice low. Helped him hide it, even the tiniest bit of doubt that it was him at a scene could prove to be vital to his continued activities.

The Clown hacked and coughed, nodding all the while. He reached a long, beefy arm to the end of his counter and picked up a bottle, as Danny took a seat.

“So - ahEHhh - how’d your… your last - HUHhfff - trial - ACKHehfhehf…” Kenneth wasn’t great at speaking, the smokes and drinks having taken a big toll on his voice. He got enough out, however, for Danny to get it.

“Solid. Still perfect. Bet it just tears you up inside that you can barely bag three in total before you run outta gas while I’ve never lost a single one.” He chuckled, leaning back as The Clown poured a shot for the both of them. 

“I do - ahEHEH - well enough for, huahh, for her to let me, GHREH, keep my drinks.” He rumbled back. 

“Fair enough. Least you aren’t one of the kids, or her first two tries. Beats the shit outta them. Krueger, too. Hey - how long’s it been since you’ve even seen him? Sonnuva bitch’s got a whole new power. Two of them, even. And we’re stuck here with just one?” Danny shook his head and lifted his mask up ever so slightly, just enough to be able to drink but not enough for The Clown to see his face beyond a chin and some stubble. 

“Could be - ahehn, worse. MacMillan doesn’t - huahhh - even hardly have a fuckahghhh - a fucking power. Heeehm, he bitches and moans all the - ehgh - time about setting all the traps.” 

Danny simply nodded. He didn’t care much for The Trapper and his little gang. Those old fucks hated Danny. New kid on the block comes in and steals their thunder, makes their lives a little bit harder, their punishment a bit worse. He couldn’t blame them, but he sure as shit wasn’t a fan of them.

The air chilled. Fog rolled in, but the two men knew it wasn’t for Danny. The Clown reached his hand out and, out of a mutual respect, Danny returned the gesture and shook it. “Good luck.” He said, and a nod was all he got in return before The Clown headed out, picking up his blade and a bigger bottle from the shelf.

He’d be fine. Even if he fucked up massively, which he sometimes did, The Entity wouldn’t go too hard on him. Perks of making friends with her favorite, he assumed. But now, he was alone. And bored. So fucking bored. Being alone was nice when he had things to do, things to write with, things to read or to watch or to plan. But here, it kinda sucked. He hoped she’d call him to action again soon.

Maybe after the next trial he’d put in a small request to visit The Demogorgon’s realm, see what it was up to. Maybe find out if he could teach it to sit down or roll over.

Maybe he’d lose a hand if tried. But Danny wasn’t ever one to feel much fear, if any at all. He wanted something to do, and hey, if fucking with a giant monster was the thing, well damn it, he’d get to it.

The wind blew a bit harder. The temperature dropped, and he heard the whispers once more. An unusually short rest - he barely had time to finish his drink. Danny welcomed it nonetheless.

He hoped the track star was in his trial again. She’d really had no idea what she was getting herself into with her shitty remark in the last one.

Danny did not know how to forgive, or how to lessen his rage, or how to show mercy. All he could think about now when she came up in his mind was how she’d slighted him. How angry he’d become. How… powerless he’d felt in that moment. She wasn’t scared of him for even the slightest, most fleeting of moments.

Well.

It was a good thing he had all of eternity to make her pay. 

To make her afraid again.


	3. Popping Cherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> danny's a real bad apple, and does some bad bad shit in his hometown. the beginning of infamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, the title's a dexter episode title reference. both being 3 felt too right for me not to do a backstory chapter
> 
> trials and demogorgon/doctor(?) fun to come next time.

Danny Johnson was born in 1968, in Green Point, Utah. It was a cool, bright autumn morning and his parents couldn’t have been unhappier. They were completely uninterested in having children, and enjoyed their laid back lifestyle, but his father had used an expired condom that broke during sex. 

Nine months later, a blight upon the world was born.

Danny was a tried and true psychopath. He tormented small animals, was a bully, and never got in trouble for it - he was an amazing liar since the very beginning. A respected police officer as a father helped him get out of some of the more serious issues of vandalism and assault. Had he not gotten a taste for murder early in his teenaged years, he could’ve gone on to be a great politician. A slimy, under-the-table bribe taker, but isn’t that what makes a great politician, anyways?

But one night in 1984 changed it all. 

He was fifteen. He was attending his high school’s Homecoming dance all alone, for he had no real interest in romance or relationships or any of the burdens that came with either. He always looked out for himself and himself only - everyone else was simply a prop to further his own interests. But this night, one girl had caught his eye. Linda St. Claire, one of the gems of the school and easily the most popular. She was captain of her cheerleading squad, and a brilliant mind. She had straight A’s, was on the National Honor Roll, and was well on her way to acceptance at any prestigious school. Everyone knew her, everyone loved her, everyone would miss her.

Yeah.

She’d do.

He loved the spectacle. Grandeur fueled him, notoriety sated his hunger, creeping fear quenched his thirst.

It was rather easy to get her to dance with him. Some superficial charm went a long way when you’re so devoid of any link to another human’s emotions that it comes off as a cool, unwavering confidence. They danced, and Linda was having a great time with a boy she thought she really liked. Danny was having a great time as well, wondering how he’d murder her and best pose the body to get the longest running story in the news. As the night wound down, and students left early or were kicked out for sneaking in drinks, he took Linda’s hand. He was fairly certain nobody would really remember seeing the two of them leave, as most were too drunk, too tired, or too horny for one another to pay another duo leaving any attention.

“Hey. Let’s head out the back… have a little fun before we leave. I’ll run out to the front and pull my car around, hm?” He asked, placing an arm around her as he shuffled to a back exit. No alarm on this one. He’d been scouting the room for the most low-key exit possible, and this was it.

“Oh - uhm, sure. As long as I’m home by curfew, and…” Linda was silenced as Danny held up a playful finger to her lips.

“C’mon. It’s a big night. We can ignore curfew for an hour, just tell your parents that you and some of your friends went out for a bite. It’ll be okay, I promise.” He crooned, nodding with a soft smile to calm her nerves.

She relented, and the two of them quietly slipped out of the backdoor. 

“Be right back.” He whispered, squeezing her shoulder before slinking off into the blackness of the night, only to return moments later in his car. He pulled up right next to Linda and stepped out, shutting the car off in the process. 

Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” played over the speakers inside, muffled but still audible. A nice song. He was glad it was the last thing Linda would hear, mixed with the sounds of her choking on her own blood. The corruption of such good things almost made him laugh.

“So… Danny, are we - urgh!” She was cut off by Danny plunging a knife into her stomach, turning her around, and covering her mouth with his now-gloved hands. 

“Shh… it’s over now. I’m going to pull the knife out and leave you to bleed out like a stuck pig. When you’re dead, I’ll toss you in that fucking dumpster over there. You won’t be found for days and your body’s going to decompose so quickly with the heat and the bugs in there. It’ll be in the news for weeks. I’m sure of it. I can hear the television right now… ‘Who killed Dear Linda St. Claire? Will they strike again?’ It’s gonna be great. You’ll be a star.” He spoke in a hushed but confident tone, ripping the knife out of her stomach as he held her mouth shut still. 

She whimpered and struggled to move for a few minutes, but eventually succumbed to her wounds. True to his words, he simply dragged her to a dumpster a few feet away and tossed her in. He was breathing heavily - the toll, physical and mental, of murdering someone hadn't occurred to him. Just about everything until now, and after now, was mapped out perfectly. But he’d forgotten to account for the actual murder.

The ground was soaked in blood, and he had to get rid of it. A hose a few feet away did just fine, and soon enough the scene was mostly clean.

He didn’t have much to worry about. His in-depth knowledge of law enforcement from his father taught him well enough that forensics couldn’t do shit unless his DNA had already been logged for a prior violent felony, and he had none so far. He’d get away with it, surely. After washing his knife and gloves, he simply tossed them back into his bag and sped off.

He was spot on when it came to media attention.

Linda’s parents pleaded and pleaded with whoever had their daughter to let her go on television. The school was distraught, and prayer meetings and candlelight vigils were set up - none of them even knew how close their events were to Linda.

It took them a week to find her corpse. It had bloated and decayed and was partially devoured by maggots by then. He was right once again - the heat in her makeshift coffin had only accelerated the decomposition process.

Three officers threw up when they found her body. One of the members of the search party fainted. Most of them cried. Danny was right there with them. The strongest emotion he felt, however, was pride.

But he had to hide it. So he looked dismayed, steeled his face and forced a few tears to come to his eyes but not fall. It was a perfect disguise, and nobody suspected him for weeks.

He killed again in that time period. 

Howard Johnson, seventy-three years of age. Danny felt like he was doing the man a damned favor with this one. So old, so frail, and so...vulnerable. Yet still - loved by all. A nice old man who’d been a World War Two hero, known for spending his days cooking delicious meals and giving them to the poor and needy, or even just as a reward if someone in the town had done something notable. Kids loved him, teens thought he was the only cool adult in town, and the adults were all very vocal about how he was a fixture of their little town. How devastating would it be for the de-facto mascot of Green Point to die a horrible death?

Danny did it in a drastically different fashion, this time. While Linda had been popular and well known, she wasn’t as much of a truly kind soul as Howard was. For that reason, her death was relatively quick and painless.

He was going to slaughter Howard. There would be no mercy, no mystery, no leniency. The spectacle for this one would be the sheer brutality and evil that would come from this. 

Danny planned and planned and planned. He’d watch Howard’s routine daily for two full weeks, enough to find out when the least traffic was coming to his house, when he was occupied and alone, when he slept and when he locked his doors or forgot to lock them. 

He’d finally figured out a time and date. Monday, his busiest day. Ten o’clock at night. He spent most of Monday at the store, the town’s small little museum, and delivering the fruits of his weekend labor to several families. He was going to get home tired and forget to lock his back door. The front was locked, always. Howard would sit in his chair and watch television for another hour before heading to bed - he was barely awake at this point. It was when Danny would strike. 

Confidently, he set down his notebook in a drawer and closed it, buried beneath a layer of t-shirts and socks. He needed a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow would be taxing.

Danny woke up at exactly 5:44 in the evening. School was out for Thanksgiving break. He jotted down the time he woke up. He wanted to remember all of this - all of it. He waited aimlessly for a few hours, until finally it was time. 

9:01 PM. He entered Howard’s house from the backyard, hopping a fence after having taken the longer, less traveled route. Nobody was there, as expected, and entering was incredibly easy. He made his way to Howard’s garage, picking out a claw hammer, and prepared to venture into the kitchen before he spotted it - a hunting knife. Much more combat friendly than your standard chef’s knife, he hastily grabbed it and made his way to his position. Hiding in a closet directly down the hall from Howard’s chair and television, he’d have a perfect sightline of Howard while he was just out of earshot with Howard’s failing hearing. And then...he waited. Just under an hour later, Howard unlocked, opened, and locked his front door. He set down some bags, placing some in the fridge, and sat down in his chair.

The television was turned on, and up. Even better - there was no way to hear Danny exit the closet. The lights were all off, so shadows weren’t an issue either. After fifteen minutes had passed and Howard’s head was nodding ever so slightly, Danny crept out of the closet. He held the knife behind him and the hammer in front. 

Danny took one step, then another, and another...and before he could even exhale, he had reached Howard. He lifted the hammer and brought it down with restraint onto Howard’s head, the blow knocking the man out of his chair and onto the floor. He twitched, part of his skull caved in, but Danny could tell he was still breathing. No, he wouldn’t get away with just one hit. Danny then plunged the knife into Howard’s spine, smiling with the satisfying cracking and snapping sound, but wincing at the hard pushback of bone hurting his hand slightly. 

“Goodbye, Howard.” He said simply and coldly, smashing the hammer into the man’s head again.

And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

He stopped when there was nothing solid left to hit. It was all mush and blood and brain. He was satisfied. He rolled Howard over, and stabbed him several times in the chest with the knife. It was pointless, but made the crime look much, much worse than even the completely smashed head. It implied that the stabs had happened while Howard was alive and conscious to feel all of the pain, on top of the initial hammer smack.

Hm.

Danny was disappointed.

He probably could have stabbed him first, and made him feel more pain.

Oh well. He’d have more tries in the future. 

He turned on the fireplace. His clothes were soaked in blood, and he undressed. The windows were shut and the blinds drawn, so nobody had seen - that he was certain of. Danny simply tossed his blood-soaked clothing into the fireplace and walked upstairs calmly, taking a nice long shower to soothe his muscles and clean him completely of Howard’s blood.

After getting dressed in a second set of clothes he’d brought, he opened the front door carefully, quickly, and quietly. He wanted someone to see Howard as soon as possible. He left through the back door, satisfied enough with his work. 

He shouldn’t have been.

Howard’s murder was in the news for three days until the investigation pointed towards him.

Danny had been religiously following the media. Panic and fear were as much of a fixture in Green Point as food and water were at this point. Two darlings of the town, murdered brutally. A predator was in their midst, budding and developing and murdering with a primal fury. 

And now they had a name. 

Someone had been awoken late that night and seen Howard’s door open. They went to check on him, only to find the horrific sight of Howard’s desecrated corpse greeting them. They quickly turned the fire off while calling the police, and part of Danny’s shirt had fallen off to the side in the fireplace. It hadn’t burned. The shirt was recognized as soon as it was brought in as evidence. It had been Danny’s favorite.

His father was the one who addressed the media with a suspect’s name, as the current captain of the police force in Green Point.

He struggled to admit it was his own son. But he got it out.

By the time the police arrived at the Johnson residence, Danny was gone. He’d taken his car with him, and all of the cash in the house. 

Danny never returned to Green Point. But he had no regrets from his time there.

Well - scratch that.

He regretted never killing the asshole who had ruined his fun. His name was protected for fear of the killer retaliating against him.

God, what he would have given to see him screaming in agony as he paid him a visit.


End file.
